


Star of Feanor

by Maltheniel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Celebrimbor reflects on his interesting family history, Character Study, Gen, but there was good too, some of the bad things in the Silm are mentioned, the building of the doors of Moria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maltheniel/pseuds/Maltheniel
Summary: Narvi and Celebrimbor are preparing to build the gates of Moria, and have a discussion about what symbols should go on the doors.
Relationships: Celebrimbor | Telperinquar & Narvi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 35





	Star of Feanor

In the depths of Hollin, the Dwarf and the Elf were sequestered together. The Elf was bent over a clay tablet, sketching idly with a stylus, while the Dwarf strode back and forth before him, gesticulating with his hands and creating sweeping visions of future designs before him.

‘We will use ithildin, of course,’ he declared, ‘and the symbols of our houses must be set forth.’

‘Right, of course,’ Celebrimbor muttered under his breath, and his fingers drew quick lines across the clay.

‘The hammer and anvil for Durin,’ Narvi went on, coming over to the table. ‘Aye, that’s good – that’s a very good likeness of them.’ He swept stumpy fingers carefully over the scratched lines, then halted suddenly. ‘Celebrimbor,’ he said, and for the first time he hesitated. ‘Are you quite certain you wish that star on the door?’

Celebrimbor looked down at the star he had drawn without thinking, and the emblem of Feanor stared back up at him. Idly he stared at it, adding the further strokes he had used to create a symbol of his own since leaving Nargothrond – then with sudden quick movements he wiped the star out altogether.

‘Do you want the star of Feanor on the doors?’ Narvi asked, surprised but not about to object if Celebrimbor wanted it.

Celebrimbor leaned back in his chair and thought. He thought of the years believing the line of Luthien, who had brought them such hope, had been wiped out; of the blood-spattered streets of Sirion, lined with bodies, when he came with those who were too late to do anything. He thought of Finrod’s eyes, bright and determined and almost unafraid to face his certain death, of his hands on Celebrimbor’s unburdened shoulders and the relentless gleam in Celegorm’s and Curufin’s eyes. He thought of Aqualonde, horror and terror in the dark and blood running red in the water. His hand hesitated over the clay and did not tremble.

Celebrimbor thought of Maedhros, of his gray eyes alight in Aman, bright and unshadowed, of the tall Elf crouched listening to the ramblings of a child hundreds of years his junior. He thought of the left-handed warrior, of the way Maedhros had fought on in the face of despair, gone on and on and on, kept finding a way to go on in the face of absolute despair because his brothers needed him, his men needed him, because he had never quite lost the mantle of leadership and he would not abandon those he cared about.

He thought of Maglor, of songs in the night sweeter than those bird ever sang, of songs that kept up morale and courage long after both should have been dead. He thought of a gentleness with all living things that hid a fierce protectiveness, of the Elf who had held the Gap against the Enemy for longer than anyone had dreamed possible. He thought of Elrond telling him on quiet nights when they were alone about the Elf who had done everything in his power to care for two orphaned princelings, first because he could not let them die and then for something more. He thought of Elrond, one morning when they were both exhausted beyond reason and spoke without inhibition, admitting in the quietness of dawn that there were times he wished the Elves would stop calling him Earendilion and call him Maglorian.

He admitted it like it was an abomination. Likely it would have been to the other Elves.

Celebrimbor thought of Celegorm, of a fiery free will, of a careless bright joy in the chase and the hunt long before those skills became a matter of life and death. He thought of the way Huan looked up at his master, of the way an Elf who rarely liked admitting any affection or weakness even in Aman would gently stroke big ears and head whenever they came in range of his hand.

He thought of Caranthir, of the Elf who had taught him first how to interact with Dwarves without offending them. He thought of a bluntness that never bothered to hide, of words of caring blurted out as abruptly as harsher words, making him feel warm inside when they came.

Celebrimbor thought of Amrod and Amras, young enough to be friends instead of uncles, of two near-identical faces under thatches of orange-red hair wavering between annoyance and delight the first time he proved he could tell them apart even when they did everything in their power to trick him and of the way he was effortlessly recruited into all their pranks after that. He thought of pairs of callused hands, one with longer fingers than the other's, teaching him to draw a bow and shoot from a horse’s back.

The Elf drew a long breath. Slowly he sketched into the clay below his hand the generic lines that both stars shared in common. ‘I don’t know, Narvi,’ he admitted.

The Dwarf still looked surprised, but Celebrimbor could hardly blame him. He had steadfastly refused to use the Feanorian star ever since that day back in Nargothrond.

‘It’s your choice,’ Narvi reminded him. ‘But we are building these doors to last a thousand years.’

Celebrimbor nodded and shut his eyes for a moment. He thought of Feanor, of the way he had dropped everything in his forge to see the trinkets his one grandson had come up with and suggested improvements within said grandson’s ability to make. He thought of a fearless leader, bright-eyed and full of dreams that could have been beautiful. He thought of a fire burned out far too soon, of the grief on the faces of his sons.

And Celebrimbor thought of Curufin. He thought of the way he had always watched over him, even to the end, of the way Curufin had taught him everything he needed to know about court politics in Aman but kept him out of them because they bored him to tears, of the way he had taught him to handle a sword in any circumstance but kept him from the front lines of battle whenever he could. He thought of the day Orodreth had banished him from Nargothrond, of the look of hurt that had appeared in Curufin’s eyes for the first time when his son repudiated him.

He thought of rough, callused hands over his own, teaching him how to work in the forge. He thought of endless patience that found a way to direct and lead childish desires in a forge, followed a child’s flights of fancy in impossible directions. He thought of the forge in Nargothrond, how whatever else was happening he and his father could go there and work in silent synchronization, hammers falling as one.

Celebrimbor thought of his Adar’s hands on his shoulders, of warm hugs freely given, words of approval still cherished.

He opened his eyes and stared down at the wet clay for a moment, stiffening his fingers around the stylus.

‘The House of Feanor deserves to be remembered as more than bloodthirsty monsters,’ he said firmly.

And Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, son of Feanor, drew the Star of Feanor into the clay.

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I got a bit of a handle on the story of the Silmarillion, I've been fascinated by the many references to it that pop up in Lord of the Rings, and one of the most interesting to me is the Star of Feanor on the doors of Moria. Celebrimbor is the Feanorian who repudiated his heritage the most, and yet he chose to put that star on the doors. Why?
> 
> In common with most of the fandom, I think, I have the opinion that there was more to the Sons of Feanor than bloodthirsty kinslayers. So here's a moment of introspection as Celebrimbor thinks about some of those depths.


End file.
